


stay, like a stain of red wine

by oksanastars



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race (US) RPF
Genre: And mayhaps some smut, Business women Katya, Clumsy Trixie, F/F, Fluff, Lesbian AU, Lesbian Katya Zamolodchikova, Lesbian Trixie Mattel, Swearing, painter katya, them being useless lesbians
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:47:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27215932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oksanastars/pseuds/oksanastars
Summary: "    “Zamolodchikova.” Trixie tries her best to do the woman’s name justice, pronouncing every syllable with utmost care. The name sounds so right and simultaneously so hot out of her mouth. Trixie catches her thoughts and knows she’s being too much. But she can’t help it. She is totally in the grip of some invisible claws that made their way around her heart.As soon as the name left Trixie's mouth, the blonde's grin transforms into a fascinated gaze, her eyes playfully holding onto Trixies eyes, and just for a moment, Trixie thinks to catch a second where she’s not the only one fascinated by the woman in front of her. And just as fast as it left, the grin is back on the woman’s face.“Yes, exactly.” "Trixie is a waitress at a little Italian resturant, making up for the money she can't seem to make with her own music and poetry. One night, a guest enters the restaurant, and Trixie is absolutely head over heels the moment the two lock eyes. After spilling red wine all over the flirtatious Zamolodchikova, she is afraid she's lost any chance she had with her. Fortunatley, succesful businesswoman Katya has a thing for clumsy girls with amazing hips and blonde hair.
Relationships: Trixie Mattel/Katya Zamolodchikova, Violet Chachki/Pearl Liaison
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	stay, like a stain of red wine

Working in a restaurant is _hard,_ especially on the weekends, when it feels like the whole world decided to have dinner being made for them instead of making it themselves. If Trixie could afford quitting her job she most definitely would within a second, but it’s not like she’d survive on the money she made from her music or poetry. She wouldn't last a month in her apartment, which she grew to love so much, before she’d stand on the streets, guitar in her hands and nowhere to go. So, working in the little Italian restaurant in the center of the city it is. Even on the busy weekends. Even when there’s screaming children begging for their pizza. Even when she is sure she’s going to be home a lot later than expected. 

The clock hanging in the little room in the back of the restaurant, a tiny space for the employees to store their bags and stuff their pasta into their mouths as fast as they can during their short - _extremely_ short _,_ if it were up to Trixie- break, tells Trixie it is 6:30 PM. She has five minutes until her break is over and has to go back to the hot and sweaty kitchens, getting ready to serve another customer. Who is she kidding- probably another five customers at the _same_ time. Trixie stands up from the table to walk up to a dusty mirror, checking whether her make-up has survived the first two hours of her shift. She looks herself in the eyes and sighs. It looks fine, a little shiny from the sweat she’s produced so far, but overall fine. She reaches to her little purse placed right next to the mirror, standing along with four other purses belonging to her colleagues. She recognises them all; the dark green one belonging to Jinkx, the woman working here the longest. Jinkx taught her everything she knows about being a waitress and managing _whatever_ comes with that. Trixie is forever grateful for that. Unfortunately Jinkx doesn’t work on sundays, so she must have forgotten it. The matte black case belongs to Sasha, the hilarious girl Trixie gets to work with every sunday and thursday evening. Sasha is extremely funny and talented, combining this demanding job with studying an intensive art course at the university nearby. Trixie admires her devotion, but she knows Sasha admires her devotion too. 

The hideous case decorated with a zebra print and glitters belongs to Bob. There is literally no one else that could get away with such a hideous case other than Bob, one of the current cooks. Bob isn’t great at cooking, but compared to the other cooks here, she’s doing great. As a waitress Trixie doesn’t see Bob very often, but when picking up plates she always hears her talk or laugh. Bob’s laugh is one of the things that keeps Trixie going on, on evenings like these; the pure serotonin hanging in the air waiting to be picked up by others.  
The last case, the pastel yellow one, belongs to Kim. Kim is one of Trixies first friends she made after moving here four years ago, and Kim actually put up a good word for her at the restaurant. Kim is another waitress, but only works three nights a week. She is also a make-up artist, and, after a good while, she finally is starting to earn an amount she deserves for the hard work she puts into it. Their love for make-up is one of the things that drew her and Kim together, and they’ve spent many nights painting each other's faces just for fun. 

Out of her own bright pink purse, she pulls an equally bright pink lipstick. As she quickly, but definitely not sloppy, touches up her lipstick, Sasha enters the room, immediately throwing her apron to the side. As she crashes down into the chair facing Trixie’s now empty chair, she drops her head into her hands.

“Trixie, remind me to never have children. Ever,” her words come out muffled, but the exhaustion is clearly noticeable. 

Trixie chuckles. “You never wanted children anyways, Sasha.” Trixie closes the lid of her lipstick and puts it back in her purse, carefully spreading the pink colour with her lips. “But I will definitely tell you whenever you are obsessing over tiny baby socks again.” 

All Sasha does is groan and grab a slice of pizza from the half-eaten pepperoni pizza laying on the table. Trixie understands. Children in a restaurant are like demons from the deepest pits of hell, but they have taught her an important lesson. She never, ever, wants to put a single child on this earth. Thank God she’s a lesbian.

Trixie pats some shredded cheese from her tiny white apron and straightens her sleeves. She’s wearing a white blouse, tucked into some flared purple jeans. The white apron is tied above her hips, accentuating the hips that are the pinnacle of her curvy body. Not that she’s showing off for anyone, but looking good on nights like these are always Trixie’s goal. She’s glad her boss is okay with her incorporating some of her own style into her mostly plain work outfit. The absolute best about her outfit, however, are the pastel yellow knee-high vintage boots. Obviously only the bottom of the shoe is visible underneath her jeans, but still. The boots make her feel like herself during work. 

Placing her two blonde braids back in front of her shoulders, she takes a deep breath. She’s ready to enter _Armageddon_ again, as she likes to call it, and turns around to see Sasha demolishing the slice of pizza. As a sign of approval of her outfit, Sasha lifts up a greasy thumb, which makes Trixie grin. 

“Enjoy that slice, Sasha. I can see you needed it.” With that, Trixie turns around and walks out of the door, back to the sound of people having a great night together, enjoying some fine Italian cuisine. 

***

“Trixie! Girl! Was the pasta good? I bet it was great. I poured in some extra _love,_ babe, I know you desperately need some.” Bob is standing with two steaming plates of pizza in her hands, immediately greeting Trixie as she emerged from the staff room. She’s grinning, knowing she _went there._

Trixie gives her an annoyed look. “It was absolutely disgusting. I loved it.” She takes the two plates from Bob's hands. They’re hot, but Trixie’s hands have been burned too many nights a week to still feel the pain. She isn’t worried about sounding rude to Bob. Rudeness is one of the only ways they actually communicate, and it’s a language of love. She loves the banter they have, even though it is very minimal.  
“Great. These are for table four.” With that Bob already disappeared again in the back of the kitchen, surrounded by smoke and smells that surprisingly go well together. 

Trixie enters the dining area, which is already filled to their maximum capacity, with people stuffed in every single corner possible. Apart from the stress Trixie gets as soon as she’s among guests again, it truly is cozy, in a way. The room is lit only by the candles that are placed onto the tables as decoration and a few that are placed in the windowsills. The room is filled with conversation and laughter and a badly put together Italian playlist, made by Jinkx- who isn’t even Italian. Outside there are even a few people waiting to be seated. Wondering why- because the food truly isn’t _that_ good- Trixie makes her way to table four, avoiding the touch of tables and chairs. As she places the two pizzas in front of a couple- Trixie just guesses it’s a couple, but by the straight-first-date-vibes she gets from them, she knows she’s probably right- she repeats the same old “enjoy your pizza’s!” and “please let me know if I can do anything else for the two of you!”. They don’t even say anything in response; all they seemingly are able to do is stare at each other and smile those stupid little smiles you only are able to do when you’re madly in love. 

Bob wasn’t wrong. Trixie _has_ been complaining about being single non-stop for the past three months, ever since her roommate and best friend Pearl started dating her girlfriend Violet. The two have been making out in plain sight, in front of Trixie’s breakfast. And lunch. And Diner. And whenever she went to grab snacks. 

The making out part isn’t even what bothers Trixie the most; it’s the way they look at each other whenever they’re _not_ , which isn’t a lot, but enough to make Trixie feel a type of emptiness she hasn’t felt in a very long time. Ever, possibly. A look filled with admiration and love, but also with lust and hunger. Trixie longs to look at someone like that, to feel the heat of their body pressed against hers in her now empty queen-sized bed. Even if she can’t have that, she just wants to crush on someone, _hard._ To feel the excitement of a first date, a first kiss, a first night spent together. 

Trixie is constantly looking among all the people she passes at the street, serves at her job, and even runs into when she quickly went out at night to get a vanilla milkshake, but not one single girl stands out. Not one. Until tonight. 

Lost in her thoughts, Trixie somehow made it back to the kitchens and even took two orders. Only when Kim snaps her fingers in front of her eyes, she rushes back into the here and now, into the guests and pizzas. 

“ _Trixie-_ two people just entered the restaurant. Could you please take them to their seats and serve them this evening? I don’t think I’m able to do them too, as I’m serving a family with four, yes _four,”_ Kim puts up four fingers in front of Trixie’s eyes, “children who all want the same stupid children’s menu. As if their parents don’t mind them eating fries at an Italian restaurant when there’s literal pounds of pizza ready to be served.” Kim shakes her head as if she’s forgotten she’d eaten lasagna at a burger restaurant many times too. Before Kim can throw in another argument Trixie starts talking. 

“Of course, Kim. That’s cool. Just promise you’ll lend me that blue eyeliner one day. I’m _dying_ to try it out.” Trixie throws her old little notepad into the bin and grabs a new one from the counter. As she looks at Kim, she smiles. “Please exfoliate your forehead asap, babe. You’re looking like a new Christmas ornament.”

Kim makes a dramatic “oh” with her mouth. “God, Trix. I have to think about that eyeliner after that comment.” Kim quickly glances in the reflection of the screen at the cash register. “Nevermind. You’re right. You can borrow the liner. Just please- _fix table ten.”_ Without any other conversation, Trixie goes back into the crowd of guests to greet the two people, waiting in front of the restaurant to be placed at their table. As Trixie pulls herself together to put a fake smile on again, she sees two women who are most likely the guests Kim meant . One is a red haired woman, wearing a long- or short- dress made of whatever fabric and is whatever colour. She forgets all about the appearance of the first woman, as she lays eyes on the second one. Like the sides of a bowling alley that are immediately hit by the worst bowler to ever exist or like the cold hitting your face when stepping out of a warm home in the middle of the winter, Trixie is struck by the absolute beauty of the curly blonde haired woman standing next to the red haired women- if it even was red, because Trixie has forgotten everything surrounding the women she is seeing right now. If Trixie’s life was a movie, the most dramatic love song would have just started, because without even knowing the woman's name, Trixie knows that whatever she’s feeling right now is love at first sight. It might be stupid, it might even be overly dramatic, but Trixie has _never_ seen a woman like this, her whole life. Never has her useless lesbian brain been as useless as it is right now, obviously making Trixie look like a _fucking_ fool the second she has met this angel, or a Goddess, for her sake. The woman could definitely be a Goddess. 

“Bonjour! Welcome to little Roma.” Only when the blonde, or God- who knows- grins at that, Trixie realises her stupid and dumb and _stupid_ mistake. Before she can even save herself, she can already feel a blush creeping up from her stomach to her cheeks. “I- eh- obviously mean _buonasera._ Stupid.” The woman standing next to the goddess seems to pick up the embarrassment, but the blonde herself just chuckles. 

“I kinda liked it. There must be some French people in Rome. You added some multicultural _spice_ to this place,” she grins, and Trixie wants to sink through the floor; whether it is due to embarrassment or the woman’s voice that _some-fucking-how_ rambles her insides and makes her knees weak. For real: Trixie’s knees are about to give in because of a woman’s voice. _A woman’s voice,_ Trixie thinks, _that’s the most lesbian thing my body has ever done._

Somehow Trixie manages to find her voice and strength to keep standing up.

“A reservation for two, am I right?” As soon as Trixie says those words, she feels something heavy hitting her lungs. _For two._ It’s a reservation _for two_.

Even though the woman of her dreams might be in love already, or straight- Trixie quickly guesses by the loose black blouse tucked into black leather jeans, followed up by black pumps, that this is too much of a _classy hooker_ outfit to be worn by a straight woman- she keeps smiling. And the blonde grins back, but it is the other woman that answers the question.

“Yes, please. Reservation for 6:45. The name is Zamo.” The woman answers directly, piercing her eyes straight into Trixie’s. 

“Or _Zamolodchikova,_ I can’t remember whether I gave my full name when I made the reservation.” She pronounces her name with an accent, slowly, giving Trixie the full experience of the sounds she just now created. Trixie loves it- everything about the way she told her her name. It’s mysterious, hot and everything Trixie needed to be assured of her little cheesy _young adult_ book moment she’s having right now, even though she hasn’t been a young adult in a long time.

“ _Zamolodchikova._ ” Trixie tries her best to do the woman’s name justice, pronouncing every syllable with utmost care. The name sounds so right and simultaneously so _hot_ out of her mouth. Trixie catches her thoughts and knows she’s being _too_ much. But she can’t help it. She is completely in the grip of some invisible claws that made their way around her heart. 

As soon as the name left Trixie’s mouth, the blonde’s grin transforms into a fascinated gaze, her eyes playfully holding onto Trixie’s eyes, and just for a moment, Trixie thinks to catch a second where she’s not the only one fascinated by the woman in front of her. Just as fast as it left, the grin is back on the woman’s face. 

“Yes, exactly.”

Trixie blinks, trying to regain the feeling of standing onto the solid earth again and not floating off in some sort of fantasy in the back of her brain. “Yes. Ahem- yes.” Trixie remembers. Table ten. “Table ten is set out for you.” Trixie turns around and slowly walks to table ten, swaying her hips a little more than she usually does. 

“Table ten.” The red haired woman immediately sits down as the words left Trixies mouth, and as the useless smitten lesbian she is, Trixie pulls the _damn_ chair back for the blonde, for _Zamolodchikova._ She looks at Trixie, holding onto a gaze a little longer than any regular guest would do, and sits down. Trixie wants to punch herself in her face as she helps pushing the chair slowly towards her table. 

“Is this a service you provide for everyone, or am I an exception tonight?” The gaze with which the woman meets Trixie’s again is enough for Trixie to almost gasp for air. She is sure. This woman is _not_ straight and very possibly flirting with her, and Trixie has to reach for every bit of energy to keep her waitress-face intact. She knows she’s failing. _Badly._

“I- well. I was just feeling like it.” If Trixie wanted to punch herself into her face a minute ago, she wants to _chokeslam_ herself to the ground now. What is she thinking? 

“Did you ask for the special _valentines_ decoration too?” It isn’t even february and it isn’t even _fucking_ winter, but this is the only way Trixie is going to find out whether this is a very flirtatious _taken_ woman or someone Trixie might actually have a chance with. 

“Eh- no. I’d just like to order two glasses of red wine. _Please.”_ The red haired woman steps in again, and if Trixie didn’t have to serve her, she would have given her her best angry glance. The _please_ was filled with such irritation it’s like a slap in Trixie’s face. 

“Yes. Of course. I will be right with you.” Trixie has to gain control over every muscle in her body to get her to walk away from this table, and somehow she manages to do just that. Swaying her hips a bit more than usual once again, she hopes she could make out of the last sentence that they are, in fact, _not_ here for any valentine-related business. 

Back in the kitchens, Trixie looks at her hands. Her palms are covered in an oily coat called _sweat,_ proof of the situation that just occured. The situation being Trixie meeting that crush she hoped for, _begged for_ , for three months. 

***

As soon as she finds the courage to leave the kitchens again, going back into the heart of the restaurant, she is balancing four plates of pasta on both her arms. Balancing multiple plates on her arms is something she grew used to, as any waitress is bound to do over time. In the beginning it sure was difficult. Trixie is known as someone who trips over her own feet at times and she knew she had to train her balance and arm muscle in order to fulfill her job as best as she could. She had spent quite a few nights a week balancing books on her arms, sometimes even on her head. One night, Pearl had taken time out of her schedule to help her, and she set out a parkour for Trixie, having to balance four books on both her arms and even two on top of her head. When Trixie managed to do the parkour without failing, Pearl placed an apple on her head, hoping to make it even more difficult. Trixie had started laughing at the situation she suddenly realised she was in: books stacked on her arms and head, an apple on top like a cherry on top of a milkshake, trying to do a badly made parkour in the living room of their tiny apartment. The laughter caused everything to fall, and Pearl finally looked pleased with herself. 

Trixie has to make a promise to herself to _not_ try to find the blonde’s gorgeous blue eyes, even though that’s all she wants to do. She might just trip, which would make the situation even more embarrassing than Trixie wants it to be. The sudden crush and thoughts that come paired with it is already embarrassing enough. Spilling pasta all over the floor is the worst thing that could happen this very moment, and so she decides to avoid any sight of the hot stranger she has to serve tonight.

Trixie knows if she could, she would stare into her eyes for hours, trying to find her way into the blonde’s heart. Those _gorgeous_ eyes, seeming to pierce right through Trixie, drilling a hole to her heart. Those eyes, how they would look at her, hovering above her, or how they would look at her from between her legs- 

“Pasta!” Before Trixie can imagine anything more, a young boy with two missing front teeth screams right into her direction. Even though she wants to punch the kid right between his tiny little devilish eyes, she is grateful for the horrendous _pasta_ screech. If it wasn’t for that child’s hunger, she would’ve completely missed the table and probably moaned here, right on the spot. 

“Yes, Pasta!” Trixie tries to sound as exciting as she can, but it isn’t a whole lot. Hopefully convincing enough for the parents to tip her, though. The parents don’t even seem to notice her, focussing only on the two children trying to stuff their mouths with the hot and steamy _spaghetti bolognese._ Once again Trixie is glad to be a lesbian. 

Having wished them all a great dinner and having asked for anything else she could do, she turns around to take another order from the most-likely straight couple. The moment she turns around, she finds herself looking directly into the blue eyes she was just imagining and _actively_ avoiding. Those eyes that could get her fired, if she didn’t start to pay attention to her job right now. But there they were, those eyes, and once again that playfulness that invites Trixie to come over and do whatever the woman asks of her. Because Trixie knows she would do right about anything for that woman, not even having to hear a single _please._ The grin that is paired with that gaze brings Trixie back to start, to the weakness in her knees, the speechlessness, the heat that is making its way to not only her cheeks, but also in between her legs. The woman licks her lips quickly, but slowly enough for Trixie’s eyes to linger on her mouth. Then she grins, and her eyes make a quick motion to the right and Trixie remembers.

“Ahem, yes. What can I do for you? Forgive me.” Table four. Table four wanted to order. Shit.

Fortunately it was just a bottle of water, but having made her way back to the kitchens again, embarrassment fills Trixie up to the core. She shouldn’t let a woman mess up her work. She _needs_ this job, more than she needs great sex or giving the blonde whatever it is she desires. Rent has to be paid every single month in order to remain in the good position she is in right now. She loves her home, the city and her friends more than anything. But as she needs the money the most, with _Zamolodchikova_ looking at her like that, she needs to find an outlet for this frustration _somehow_ . Keeping it all in won’t do her any good- she is sure of that- but she can’t possibly ask a _guest_ for a hookup. That simply isn’t professional. Even though Trixie isn’t that much of a professional either- it’s not something she can just _do_ . And above all that, the blonde isn’t worth _just_ a hookup. She’s worth the kissing, the teasing, the buildup until they both can reach their climax. Even if Trixie can’t- getting the woman there would be good enough. Good enough for Trixie to do it herself, if she has to. The stroking of each other’s faces gently afterwards, maybe even falling asleep to the beat of both the rhythms of their hearts. Making breakfast in the morning, being kissed in bed, waking up not only to an alarm but to the voice of someone she holds dear. Letting out a deep sigh, Bob’s voice takes over any possibility of having any more thoughts Trixie was about to have. 

“I see you and _Miss blonde hair and leather jeans_ , miss Trixie.”

Trixie cocks her head up to see Bob standing against the wall, nonchalantly drying her hands with a towel, looking at Trixie with an all-knowing smirk. 

“Shut up Bob.”

“No, no. I get it. I wish you could go for it. Maybe you can figure something out. Or maybe miss _I have dinner with someone but looking at that waitress’ ass is much better_ will figure something out.” Bob chuckles and Trixie feels the heat rushing up to her cheeks once again. Did the blonde look at her ass?

“Did she look at my ass?” Trixie asks, more serious than Bob had probably expected, as she lets out a loud laugh, likely for the guests to enjoy too. “Also how would you even know? Aren’t you busy making pasta or something?” Trixie adds. Her embarrassment is sky high at this moment and it’s making Trixie feel fifteen again. She doesn’t know whether she likes it or not. 

“God- she checked it _out. Oh u tee-_ baby. Out. And I think she loved it, I’m not gonna lie. Can’t blame her though, you have a great ass.”

Trixie nods. She does.

“And well- orders are a little slow, or something. No clue how _that_ could be. Oh wait. I do.” Bob looks Trixie dead in the eyes, but Trixie knows she has to step it up. So far it has worked out, but she can’t go on like this the entire evening. Even though Jinkx isn’t here to give her some kind-hearted criticism, she knows that at this point she would’ve heard to step her _fucking_ game up. And she will.

“Okay. Enough about this. I need to bring her and her company two glasses of red wine.”

“I know,” Bob points to the counter next to her. “They’ve been waiting there for a while. I hope there aren’t any bugs that decided to go for a swim real quick.”

Trixie returns the dead look and reaches for the two glasses, placing them on her round black tray she carries around every shift. As she walks away, she hears a whispered “good luck” and a chuckle.

Walking up to table ten is more difficult than she expected it to be. Her mind shows her flashes of the blonde kissing her on every body part she can manage to think of right now, and seeing the back of the woman’s head is enough to send a chill up Trixie's spine already. How will she say hi? Who is she going to give the wine first? What if she starts talking French, _again?_ Trixie reminds herself she can’t even speak French, apart from a quick _bonjour_ and _merci._ That won’t be a problem then. Right?

She reminds herself to take it a step at a time, placing one foot in front of the other. All she needs to do is place the two glasses of red wine on the tiny round table, take a possible order and leave again. That’s all- even if the blonde decides to look at her again. Even if all Trixie wants to do is take her home, eat her out wherever she wants to be eaten out, show her how she’s willing to bruise her knees for her and do it again and again and _again._

“Two glasses of red wine.” She stands next to the table, avoiding direct eye contact with the blonde for now. It takes a lot of determination to not blush, to not give in to her desires and look to the left. She can _feel Zamolodchikova_ sitting there. She can feel the presence of the woman more than anything else. 

The red haired woman gives her a quick nod and Trixie knows doesn’t have to think who she is going to serve the wine first. Thank God. 

Slowly placing the glass of wine onto the table, she leans forward a little bit more than usual, her ass towards _Miss who checked Trixie’s ass out, apparently._ It’s not too obvious for guests to notice her being kind of a slut tonight, but enough for _Zamolodchikova_ to know that she’s playing whatever little game they’ve got going on. The sudden confidence surprises Trixie; maybe it is because she isn’t directly looking at the woman, or maybe it is because she simply knows her ass looks pretty damn good. Not only is Trixie up for playing along, but she’s up to snatch the crown. She’s gonna _win._

As soon as she turns around to finally look the blue eyed blonde into her eyes again, that confidence all fades away. _Completely._ It crumples down, like a sandcastle made out of dry sand. All _Zamolodchikova_ has to do is look her in the eyes and wink. _She winked at Trixie._ If there ever was any doubt regarding Trixie’s sexuality, it sure is gone now. The way she winks quickly and nonchalantly, still flirty and inviting, makes Trixie’s eyes widen with astonishment and her mouth dropping slightly. Not only does her confidence leave the game, but her sweaty hands are _back_ in the game _,_ and better than ever. As soon as Trixie reaches for the glass of wine meant for the grinning blonde she knows she’s gonna do something she’s gonna regret. Of course she is. 

She spills the whole _fucking_ glass over the womans top. _The_ _whole. Glass. Of. Wine._

***

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry!” Trixie can’t believe herself. How did she manage do something so _incredibly_ stupid? Why do her hands have to be sweaty when there's _really no use for it?_

Trixie reaches for the napkin lying on the table, but instantly realises it won’t do any good. She needs to get a towel to clean up this big amount of wine, the red looking like she just murdered someone and didn’t do a good job at cleaning any of it up. The wine found its way to the walls, the floor, even the shoe of a guest sitting next to table ten. But, most of all, it _drenched_ the woman’s blouse in the red, strong smelling liquid. Trying not to look at the blonde out of sheer embarrassment, she can’t help to face her when she starts talking. 

“Don’t worry about it. Stuff like that happens in restaurants. The only thing I pity is the spilled wine,” she tells Trixie with a smile spreading across her face. How is she hot _and_ nice? 

From her right, Trixie hears the red haired woman start talking. 

“God, that’s sloppy. I did not expect that from such a loved restaurant.” At the tone in her voice, Trixie wants to bury her head in her hands and cry. This is exactly what she was desperately trying to avoid; being unprofessional.

“Oh stop it. We all make mistakes. It still is a lovely restaurant, we just spilled a little wine.” As the woman speaks, she holds onto Trixie’s eyes. It almost feels like she wants to reassure her that it’s _okay._

“I’m so sorry, I will get a wet towel for you and try to clean things up. I’ll be back in just a second.¨ 

Trixie immediately turns around, wanting to leave this situation as soon as possible, only to see people looking at her halfway through their meals. Even Sasha, who has been back from her break a little while already, stopped to look at the mess Trixie made. _Fuck._ It’s embarrassing. Trixie hates it with a burning passion. Can someone please take her far, far away from here?

She feels a hand closing around her wrist. It’s not a forceful type of grabbing her wrist, but more like a warm touch pulling her back into reality. 

“Please- I’ll go with you.”

And there Trixie walks, spots of red wine covering her white apron and a flush of redness lingering on her cheeks, followed by a woman whose blouse is covered in the same spilled wine. Wouldn’t they be walking through a restaurant, Trixie wonders what it would look like from an outsider's perspective. Mayhaps they could be two female assassins who just got back from another job, making their way back to their hotelroom where they could put the adrenaline of murder into a heavy make out session. Or she could be an artist who got done painting and instantly made love to her girlfriend, leaving stains of the red paint she had spilled on the other girl’s clothes. But they weren’t. Trixie was just a dumb, clumsy waitress who spilled red wine all over a guest, whose name she isn’t even famillar with, but somehow managed to fall in love with after a few exchanged looks and sentences. 

Trixie steps through the staff door, holding it open for the blonde to enter. 

“Oh, well this adds a whole new perspective to the idea I had of this little place,” she says to Trixie, looking around the dusty little room with a sense of curiosity in her eyes. 

“I truly have no clue whether that’s a good or bad thing, but I’ll take it,” Trixie says with a chuckle. The room really does add character to the restaurant, as the walls have never been painted since the first time the restaurant had opened. Employees that have worked here the past twenty-five years have left little written sentences and artwork, covering the walls all the way up to the ceiling. Trixie doesn’t know whether stepping into the room makes her claustrophobic or give her a feeling of being hugged by all the former employees, who most likely have gone through the same exhausting shifts. She likes it.

The woman laughs. It’s a beautiful sound echoing through Trixie’s insides, lighting a fire in her stomach. Her laugh isn’t like Bob’s, whose laugh makes you instantly feel happier. It isn’t like any laugh she’s ever heard, to be honest. It’s like music in her ears, and she has heard a lot of music.

“It’s definitely positive. It gives the building character. I love it.” The woman stops in the middle of the room, looking at Trixie with that same grin she has been handing out like free tickets all night. Trixie couldn’t help but notice though, the tickets were only given to her. Knowing that makes can’t help but makes her feel... _good._

In the dim light of the staff room, the woman’s face isn’t as well-lit as it was back in the dining area, and it creates a dark palette on her slim face. Now Trixie has a little extra time to pay more attention to her appearance, her eyes immediately fixate on her arms. Her incredibly toned and muscular arms, may she add. The things these arms could do to Trixie in literally _any_ other situation than this one are countless, and Trixie knows she should not go through that list right this second. She’ll keep that list in mind for later tonight, when having made her way back to her apartment. 

Realising she has been staring, Trixie quickly gets back in motion with a quick “oh.” and turns around to the sink. Which is, embarrassingly enough, filled with dirty plates stacked on top of each other. 

“Is it that bad?” 

Trixie grabs a towel from a big wooden basket placed under the sink and turns back to the blonde. “I- no they look great.”

The right corner of the women’s mouth turns up into a smirk. “I was actually talking about the wine, but thank you. I have no clue what it is you like, but I gladly accept the compliment.”

The amount of times Trixie has wanted to sink through the floor this evening keeps on growing. At this pace she most likely has reached the middle of the earth already, and the thought of being dissolved by lava doesn’t seem that bad to her right now. _Of course she wasn’t asking about her arms, you useless lesbian._

“Well I- God,” Trixie turns back to the sink, opening the tab to let water flow over the white towel _._ “I am not myself this evening, sorry for that. I don’t know why.” She does know why. The reason is standing behind her, listening to her useless rambling. “Not like you would know that, given we have never met, but still. I’m not myself. Usually I don’t spill good wine on guests.” She walks up to the woman. “If there’s anything I can do to repay the damage, please let me know, Miss Zamolodchikova.”

“Please call me Katya.” _Katya._ “And the first thing we can try is patching this blouse up.”

Lifting up the towel, Trixie hesitates. The wine has spilled mostly on Katya’s chest and she doesn’t know whether she’s in a position to clean her up like that. All Katya does is look at the towel though, waiting for Trixie to do something, and so she does. 

She pats the wet side of the towel on Katya’s chest, following the stains of the red wine. The moments she presses the towel onto the blouse, she does it as delicate as she has ever done _anything._ She wouldn’t even hold a baby with such delicacy. Trixie can’t help but notice the deep breaths Katya is taking, syncing up with her own inhalations and exhalations. Patting down the towel again, she becomes aware of the descending of the soft skin making up Katya’s breast. It’s an intimate moment; Trixie feels the tension hanging in the air, buzzing around her head and making her head foggy. She dares to pull her eyes away from the towel, finding Katya looking up at her, her gaze filled with something Trixie can’t quite place. They stand there like that for a little while, Trixie patting the towel on Katya’s blouse -not even caring about whether it is actually getting rid of the stains- and the two of them looking each other in the eyes. Time is ticking, probably, but Trixie doesn’t notice _nor_ care. She is lost. Lost in the eyes of the blonde.

“I’m afraid the stains aren’t going to go away anytime soon.” The breathing of the words is the first sound that filled the room in a little while. Katya’s voice is low, making Trixie’s lips part as a reaction. The blonde’s eyes go down to look at them, staying there as Trixie gives her an answer.

“I’m afraid so too.”

That’s when Trixie snaps back into reality, closing her mouth immediately and lifting up the towel. It reveals an even bigger stain; Katya’s entire chest is a mixture of wine and wetness of the towel. The wet stain reveals a hint of Katya’s bra, and Trixie can’t help but look.

Katya doesn’t say anything. She just keeps on watching Trixie, who keeps on watching her. Trixie knows that if she decides to look the woman up and down, she’s going to be here for another hour. And she’s at her work right now. She has to get back as soon as possible.

“I wanted to say the stain made the blouse look vintage but that goes against every moral code in my brain. It- yeah. It doesn’t look great.” Trixie steps back, letting go of the moment the two just shared. “I could give you my jacket? To cover it up.”

Katya smiles at that. “Please don’t go against any moral code. I’d love to borrow your jacket, if you won’t be cold later tonight, of course.”

“Oh don’t worry about that! I’ll be fine.” Trixe turns her back to Katya, making her way to the coat stand in the back of the room. She pulls out her pastel green coat, and immediately realises it does _not_ go with Katya’s outfit in any given way. But what else can she do? 

“I do realise it might be a little, _colourful,_ for the palette you’re wearing tonight, but it’s all I have.” She holds out her jacket, and Katya lets out a loud laugh. It’s a beautiful sound. Did Trixie already mention that?

“I love it. It’s amazing. Who cares about the color palette anyways?” Katya takes over the jacket and puts it on. It looks a little too big on her, but it makes Trixie melt on the inside. Katya’s wearing her jacket. _Her_ jacket.

“Except for that I actually do as an artist. I love it though. It smells great too.”

Katya’s an artist. Trixie can’t seem to comprehend the speed at which she is falling for this woman, and it’s driving her insides nuts. Butterflies are fluttering through her stomach and it’s the most foolish and amazing thing she’s felt in a long while. 

“Thank you. I shower quite a bit to keep it that way.” 

Trixie’s little joke makes Katya laugh again, and it makes her feel absolutely euphoric. If she could, she’d make her laugh for hours. Or days, who knows. 

Katya bites her bottom lip in a smile and walks back to the door to the dining area. Before she opens it she turns around. “Thank you Trixie.”

For a moment Trixie thinks she’s a sorcerer too, but remembers her name is displayed on her chest, sewn into her blouse. “Anytime, Katya,” she whispers. 

Trixie cleans the rest of the wine that made it onto the wooden floor with a mop and rushes her way back to the kitchens to get out her next orders. After the most intimate and simultaneously awkward moment Trixie has shared with a woman in a while, Trixie is motivated to do the rest of her shift extra carefully. Trying not to think a whole lot about Katya, who is eating her pizza with Trixies jacket on, Trixie occupies herself with as many orders as she can. The possibility of never seeing Katya ever again after this night, is big, as she lives in a big city. Maybe Katya doesn’t even live here. The thought of never seeing her again makes Trixie's throat fill up with sadness. 

After quite some plates of pasta and pizza passed through Trixie’s hands, she agrees that it’s time to find the blonde again. She has done her very best to make up for the wine accident, so it’s okay to take a tiny step back and be an useless lesbian again. To Trixie’s shock, however, Katya is nowhere to be seen. Table ten is empty, as are most tables, apparently. What time is it that Trixie _forgot_ to serve Katya again? Her tiny pink watch tells her it is ten thirteen, about seventeen minutes before closing time. _Fuck. She forgot Katya._ How could she? Is this really the last time she’d ever see her? Was the “Trixie” in the staff room the only time she was gonna hear it from the blonde’s mouth? 

The last hour goes by slowly. Trixie is lost in her thoughts and her stupidity, and the fact that she’s the one having to clean the bathrooms tonight is only making it worse. After what seems like forever, she returns to the staff room. Opening the door, she walks into a bubble of conversation. Sasha and Bob are having a laugh about God knows what, and Kim is simply checking her phone. A few other employees Trixie isn’t very familiar with are talking, putting their coats on, or both. _Her coat._ Trixie closes her eyes in disbelief, having disappointed herself yet again. She forgot to ask it back, and now she is going to be cold, just like Katya guessed would happen. She thought she could ask for the jacket when handing over the bill, or at least hinting at a way to get it back, but obviously she didn’t get to do that. 

“Trixie! You good?” Sasha stands in front of her, having put a hand on her shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m just a mess tonight. And handed out my coat. _And_ forgot to ask it back.”

Bob laughs as she joins the conversation, her head popping up behind Sasha’s shoulder. “Well, are you in luck. Our dear guest left it for you!”

Trixie looks into the room to see her jacket, neatly folded, laying on the wooden table in the middle of the room. Katya didn’t forget. She left it for her. Her heart starts melting a little.

She picks up the jacket to put it on. While there’s still a hint of her own flowery perfume, another scent lingers around her now too. It smells like a hint of cigarettes- not too strong for Trixie to be disgusted by it- and a surprisingly fresh minty scent. Mixed with both is the scent of nothing in peculiar Trixie can think of, but she’s sure it’s _Katya._ Her body. And God- it smells good. 

Ten minutes later she is walking on the sidewalk, the faint light of the streetlights reflecting on her watch. Dolly is blasting through her light blue headphones, that are covering her ears. It’s freezing outside, for a simple october's night. She’s glad Katya left her jacket. Who knows, she might’ve been found frozen to death the next morning otherwise.

Trixie puts her hands in the pockets of the jacket, trying to grasp onto whatever warmth possible. To her surprise, her pockets aren’t empty. Astounded, she pulls out a tiny piece of folded paper and opens it.

In case you wanted it

X

Underneath the written message, which is written in a surprisingly messy way, is a phone number. Trixie gasps and lets out a humiliating squeal. _She got her phone number._ It isn’t over yet. Trixie still has a chance to make out with the blonde; she _did_ add a kiss to the note. 

***

As soon as she arrives at her apartment, she closes the door with a loud bang. Trixie is practically running to her room, ignoring Pearl sitting on the couch. 

“Good evening, I guess. Yeah I had a great night. Yeah, I actually got some work done and managed to cook myself a meal. Your night? Ah, terrible? Well. You deserved it, bitch.” Pearl says it with such calmth, it makes Trixie laugh. 

“Shut up whore,” is all she replies, before closing her bedroom door with a second bang.

Trixie wiggles her coat off, letting it fall to the ground, and jumps on her bed. Right now, she doesn’t care she’s the epitome of a stupid teenage girl. Tomorrow, who knows. She probably will look back in shame. 

She grabs her phone from her back pocket and adds the number to her contacts, naming it “Katya <3”. Only then is it the first time she stops to think. Should she message Katya this fast, or should she wait a little? She doesn’t want to seem needy, but then, she kinda _maybe_ is. After a five second brainstorm, she decides she has nothing to lose. Well, except for an amazing woman, that is

**Trixie**

_Got the stain out by yourself already?_

Trixie decides not to add anything else. It’s not like Katya wouldn’t be able to guess that it’s her who’s texting. Except for the possibility of someone else staining something belonging to Katya. Which is quite big, Trixie begins to think. She throws her phone away, not ready for confrontation, and decides to get into something comfortable for the rest of the night. 

After spending five long minutes of scrubbing off her make-up and rethinking her opening message, she walks back into her room. She’s wearing a pink velvet tracksuit and some pink fluffy socks. Her two braids are taken out, the long blonde curls bouncing on her back. Trixie dreads picking up her phone. What if Katya only gave it to send her a request to pay her for the blouse Trixie messed up? What if Katya decides she made the wrong decision leaving her number after all? She’s being stupid. _Act like the grown woman you are, Trix, and pick up your fucking phone to read whatever Katya sent you._

Trixie has three notifications, all labeled _Katya_.

**Katya <3**

_I actually tried bleach, but it turns out that doesn’t do the job_

_I’m kidding_

_unless you think it could help_

Trixie shrieks a loud screaming laugh, the one she does so often when not in the company of guests or people that are basically paying her rent. She quickly types back an answer.

**Trixie**

_please don’t use bleach_

_i’m begging_

**Katya <3**

_well if you say so_

_even though you did try to remove the stain with … water_

**Trixie**

_i panicked and acted out of pure desperation_

_is this… bullying_

Trixie chuckles and falls on her back, her head falling on the soft pillows spread on her bed. Katya is less business-y than she expected. She wonders what surprise is coming next. Maybe she’s a serial killer, who knows.

**Katya <3**

_…_

_sorry_

**Trixie**

_apology accepted_

_thank you_

**Katya <3**

_:´)_

**Trixie**

_thank you for not forgetting my phone either, by the way. i was actually freezing to death on my way back home_

_also_

_i hope you enjoyed the food… i wasn’t my best waitress-self tonight._

**Katya <3**

_I wouldn’t have left my number if i thought you were just a basic waitress_

_wait am I being inappropriate_

_is it okay for a guest to leave their number at a restaurant in hopes of speaking to the cute waitress_

Trixie widens her eyes. _She’s cute._ She wants to scream, squeal, do anything to get rid of the energy in her body. But she doesn’t- all she does is kick her feet in the air, hoping to not make too much sound for Pearl to come in.

**Trixie**

_wow_

_well, you are the guest_

_it would’ve been inappropriate of_ me _to leave my number_

Trixie’s cheeks are getting hot, lighting up with a bright red blush. 

**Katya <3**

_well then I think I’m safe_

_so_

_if you weren’t in the waitress position tonight_

_would you have left your number?_

She bites her lip. Katya is so obviously flirting with her, it’s _insane_. Amazing, but insane. Trixie’s evening is getting weirder and weirder, and better and better. She hopes she isn’t dreaming. 

**Trixie**

_depends on whether you would’ve spilled red wine on me_

_if you did, well, you’d have to be very cute for me to leave my number then_

**Katya <3 **

_?_

_my question remains the same_

_even though I don’t think I would spill red wine, but okay_

**Trixie**

_red wine has a mind of its own- you never know what it’s gonna do_

_but well, yes_

_i would have_

**Katya <3**

_great to know_

_goodnight, Trixie_

**Trixie**

_i_

_okay_

_goodnight then, miss Zamolodchikova_

**Katya <3**

_woah_

After that, she sees Katya going offline. Trixie has no clue what just happened, except for some obvious flirting- from both sides- and annoying nasty butterflies that are fluttering in her stomach. What was going to happen after this? Katya clearly is  _ somewhat _ into her, and Trixie can obviously say the same. Even though she’s only known the blonde for one entire evening, Trixie is excited for what is going to come after this. Maybe, she can finally be with someone again. Maybe, she can finally go to sleep, knowing she’s loved. 

But who knows.

**Author's Note:**

> hi! thank you so much for reading<3 you can find me on tumblr (jinkxpetal) if you’d like to see what i’ve got going on. take care and stay healthy! <3


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